


Candy Made of Cotton

by AngelQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV), National Treasure Series, National Treasure: Book of Secrets (2007), Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Crossover Pairings, Fluff, Genderbending, Het and Slash, Multi, Prompt Fic, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five multi-fandom fills for <a href="http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/"></a><b>cottoncandy_bingo</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snapshots of Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Art  
>  **Fandom:** Merlin  
>  **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had been reluctant to accompany Gwaine on this little side-trip to an _art gallery_ of all things – he had more important things to be doing, like finding the rest of his people in this sea of humanity that was the new reality he’d been dropped in – but his former chief knight had been insistent. 

“Trust me, Princess,” the dark-haired man had said, “you’ll _want_ to see this.”

So he’d come, despite firmly believing that it would be a waste of his time. Oh, but he had been proven _wrong_ , so wrong. All he could do now was gape.

The gallery was full of paintings, obviously, but the paintings weren’t in the ‘modern’ style or whatever it was that was so popular with the masses these days – honestly, how were a few geometric shapes randomly placed on a canvas considered _art_? Clearly, this new world Arthur was meant to save was insane.

No these paintings were nothing like that. Instead, Arthur found himself staring at images of his own life. Well, not just his, but _everyone’s_ – Gwaine’s, Gwen’s, his father’s, and so on. There were landscapes – the sword in the stone, lit by a ray of sunshine pouring down through the thick canopy of branches and leaves, the citadel, gleaming white and unspoiled on a bright afternoon, the town, full of contented citizens going about their daily business and completely unaware that their world had long gone to dust. 

And that barely scratched the surface. There were portraits too. There was the Round Table, every seat save one filled. There was Morgana, her hair and dress tangled like spider-webs and her eyes filled with a fierce and unholy light, something Arthur had hoped to never see again. There was his father, his expression stern and unyielding, surrounded by fire and smoke. There was Lancelot, standing in front of an inky blackness and turning back to look toward the painter, just as he’d no doubt looked just before the brave man had offered up his life to close the rift that Morgana and Morgause had opened in their spiteful quest for revenge. There was even a double portrait of Arthur and Guinevere, enthroned in all their glory and finery at the height of their reign.

The sign at the door of the gallery had called the collection ‘ _Snapshots of Camelot_ ’. Apt, very apt.

Arthur could barely breathe as he stared at the paintings that had made up so much of his life. Finally, when he could take no more, he turned to Gwaine, who stood next to him. “What?” he sputtered. “Who? _How_?!”

Gwaine just grinned at him, clearly enjoying Arthur’s shock – he wondered if the gods were mocking him, to make Gwaine so unchanged, still insubordinate, still mocking, still _Gwaine_. Finally, though, the former knight turned and pointed. Arthur followed the other man’s motion, and quickly spotted a lone figure standing in a corner, his back to the rest of the gallery.

Arthur moved forward slowly, keeping his eyes on his new target. As he approached, he saw that the other man was standing in front of another landscape. There were not lights centered on this painting like there were on the others, as though whoever had placed it there did not want attention drawn to it. Still, he looked closely at it, and nearly choked.

Bodies. Hundreds, possibly more, dead, though some still fighting. Crows circling the battlefield, anticipating their coming feast. In the foreground, three men. One lay apart from the others, his body blackened and singed. The second, clad in armor and a red cloak, lay in the arms of the third, who wore a simple cloak. Fair hair stained with blood, pale skin marked with tears.

_Camlann._

Arthur forced himself to look away from it and focused on the individual standing there, his back to the rest of the room. A thin figure, his skinny arms clasped behind his back. Short cropped hair, and his ears sticking out from his head in quite a comical manner. Arthur’s lips twitched. Almost like…

He stopped. He stared again.

Thin, almost to the point of emaciated. Short hair. _Ears that stuck out from his head_.

The remembered pain and grief brought by the painting began to subside, and Arthur could feel something inside him begin to tremble. He would know this silhouette anywhere. He would know those _ridiculous_ ears anywhere.

“ _Merlin_ …” he breathed.

The other man jumped at the sound of his voice, and whirled. The shock on his face would have made Arthur laugh, once, but now he was speechless.

Blue eyes, brighter than the sky. Pale skin that never quite took to excessive sunlight. Lovely lips, which were even more delightful when they were swollen from Arthur’s kisses.

“ _A-Arthur_?” 

Oh, that voice. It was like water to a man who had been dying of thirst. Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the sound. In the months since he’d awakened to this strange, new world, he had been desperate to find Merlin. One by one, some of the others had been made known to him – Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Elyan, even Gwen – but Merlin himself had proved elusive.

Now here he was. He was _here_. 

Arthur opened his eyes again and, ignoring the sting of tears, stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

Merlin, as always, met him halfway, throwing himself into his arms and burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur held onto him, reveling how every part of his body sang like a choir. He – _they_ – were whole again.


	2. Conversations in a Turbolift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Power outage  
>  **Fandom:** Harry Potter/Star Trek (2009)  
>  **Pairing:** Hermione Granger/Christopher Pike

“This,” Hermione said testily, “is _not_ my fault.”

Christopher nodded, even though she could barely see him even with the turbolift’s emergency lighting. “Of course it isn’t,” he added. “It probably has nothing to do with the tests, anyway. Possibly a glitch.”

She didn’t seem to notice his words, and instead just kept going. “I _told_ them how to keep the effects of the tests from spreading beyond the testing area, gave them the exact specifications that they needed to keep the electronics outside from being effected,” she ranted. “But _no_ , they were quite certain that half of what I called for would be more than sufficient.” Christopher could just imagine the scowl on her pretty features. “Never mind that I’ve been doing things like this for _years_ and they’ve never seen anything like this. Of _course_ they know best.” He could hear the growl in her tone. “ _Idiots._ ”

Christopher struggled to contain his amusement. He knew Hermione was right, of course. She was the leading expert in ‘magic’, if only because she was the only living human being on record who could actually _do_ it. Few traces of her people, this strange sub-race of humans, had been found once Starfleet had been made aware of them, save for the strange, derelict ruins of a castle in Scotland that Hermione called Hogwarts, and a blackened, singed, underground cavern-like structure beneath the city of London. Both sites bore the signs of violence and destruction.

For all intents and purposes, Hermione was the last of her kind. 

In the dim light, Christopher could see her pacing, and could hear her continuing to mutter to herself. He didn’t doubt that she was probably even throwing scathing looks at the panel next to the door, and he knew her well enough to know she was considering pulling it apart to try and restore power to the turbolift. As she passed him, he reached out and caught her hand, stopping her in her tracks. “There’s nothing to do but to wait, Hermione,” he told her gently. “Come on, sit with me.”

She hesitated, and now she was close enough that he could vaguely make out her face – or maybe his eyes were just adjusting to the darkness. Her dark eyes swept over him briefly, and Christopher thought he saw her lips twitch just a little bit, but she eventually bowed to his coaxing and sank down onto the floor next to him, her legs tucked primly beneath her.

“How have your studies been going?” he asked her, hoping it would take her mind off their current predicament and any plans she might have to hex the engineers once they were free. Hermione’s temper was never something to mess with, and the calmer she was once they got out of here, the better off _everyone_ would be. That, and he really was curious. In the early years of her working with Starfleet, Hermione had plowed through the Academy curriculum at a record-breaking pace, despite never actually _attending_ the institution, and was ultimately awarded a commission of full Lieutenant. That had been several years ago, now, and he knew she’d recently been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, but they were apart more often than they were together, so Christopher was rather fuzzy on the details.

The ruse seemed to work and Hermione launched into an explanation of what she had been studying. Engineering, of course, was something she continued to be passionate about, though she seemed to be branching off as well, delving into Communications and even Command concentrations. Christopher didn’t doubt that she’d excel as a Command track cadet at the Academy. She had the ability to lead well, when called on to do so, and she had the mentality of someone who was _used_ to barking orders at unruly subordinates. 

When she finally wound down, Christopher could feel her turning to look at him. “What about you?” she asked. “I know you’ve left the _Yorktown_ to Number One’s care, and you’re on Earth a lot more now. What are you up to?” 

Christopher winced inwardly. He hadn’t exactly told her that he was leaving the _Yorktown_ – Number One and Phil Boyce had had _that_ honor . Though she hadn’t given him a blistering lecture about letting friends know when he was changing his address, she had given him more than one scathing look ever since Starfleet had brought him in as an observer-cum-supervisor-cum-handler for her project of creating magic-resistant technology.

This was why he had so few relationships with women. He _sucked_ at them.

“I’m doing recruiting and cadet advising for the Academy,” he started to tell her. He didn’t get any further, though, because of her incredulous snort.

“You went from being the captain of one of the best ships in the ‘fleet to a desk job? Please, Christopher,” Hermione scoffed, “either there’s more to it, or you have royally pissed someone off. I’m assuming it’s the former, since the engineers down here are horrible gossips and would have blathered on about the ‘fleet’s finest captain being pulled from active field work because he offended an admiral.”

He snorted, but didn’t deny her words. Starfleet engineers _were_ enormous gossips, it was true. He’d made use of that fact more than once in his career, staying on top of things and being aware of what was happening before the Admiralty got around to actually _telling_ him what he needed to know. “Yes,” he admitted, “there’s more to it. They’re giving me the _Enterprise_ , once she’s finished. The advising and recruiting is part of my work to put together a crew.”

“You’re picking the best and the brightest from the Academy,” she mused, nodding slowly. “Smart. You can train them from the start, and won’t have to undo any bad habits they might learn from other captains.”

Christopher nodded. He kept talking, mentioning a few of the cadets that stood out in his mind that he was considering. Of course, that led him to mention the most notorious cadet of them all, Jim Kirk.

“Kirk?” Hermione broke in. “Wasn’t that the name of the man who died on the _Kelvin_? The one in your dissertation?”

His dissertation, the complete version, was still classified, but he didn’t ask how she had been able to read it. Hermione had picked up on computers and hacking with a frightening efficiency, and little liking for things being kept from her ‘for her own good’. She seemed to despise that phrase more than anything. “Yeah,” he said, “that was George Kirk. Jim is his younger son, the one who was born when the crew evacuated.” Christopher snorted. “Jim’s wreaking havoc. It’s like he sees everything that’s wrong with Starfleet and is doing whatever he can to draw attention to it, with no regard to things like diplomacy and the fact that the Admiralty are delicate flowers in need of special handling.”

Hermione laughed, all signs of her previous annoyance having faded. “He sounds like someone you would like.”

He rolled his eyes. “True,” he admitted, “and I think he’ll make a hell of an officer someday. If he doesn’t get himself killed first.”

A weight fell on his shoulder for a brief moment, and he turned to see Hermione leaning against him. He could see her lips twist upward in an affectionate smile. “I think you’ve dealt with far worse things than a genius bent on changing the system, Christopher,” she said quietly.

She was beautiful when she used that tone, and Christopher had never been able to resist her. “You mean like a magical genius bent on changing the system?” he murmured, his fingers coming up to brush along the skin of her cheek.

He captured her subsequent laugh with his lips. It, and she, tasted like raspberries.


	3. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** WILD CARD -- Reunited  
>  **Fandom:** National Treasure  
>  **Pairing:** The President/OFC

Once he’d parted ways with Gates, his first and foremost thought was to get back to Mount Vernon. As irritating as the constant presence of the Secret Service could be, the President knew why they were there. He may have been an architectural history major, but he knew the history of his country – and his country’s leaders – all too well.

The road was strangely deserted as he hiked back toward Mount Vernon. Thankfully, the distance wasn’t too far, and in a much less meandering path than the secret tunnel he and Gates had traversed. As he approached the gates, the President quickly spotted several of his Secret Service agents. He waved at them. “Gentleman,” he greeted with as much cheer as he could muster.

They didn’t even bother returning his smile. As one, two of his agents – Fred Carter and Jon Michaels – grabbed onto his shoulder and began to hustle him toward the house. Behind him, he heard one of the other agents speaking into his cell phone, “Eagle One recovered. Alert Eagle Two and Blue Bird.”

Eagle Two – the Vice-President. Blue Bird – his wife.

His wife. In all the excitement, he’d kept her as far from his thoughts as he could, knowing that if he thought too closely on her, he might just panic. Now that he was safe, she was all he could think about. “Is my wife all right?” he demanded as they entered the manor house through a side-door, away from the party-goers who were still milling about. “Is someone with her?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Fred answered. “She was secured immediately. Your cousin is with her.”

His cousin Angela, who was a doctor, the President thought. Relief swept through him. She’d keep her calm, or as calm as possible.

The two agents led him to a small parlor, one that had been commandeered by his people for the duration of the party (and with sincere assurances that nothing would be damaged while they used it). As he stepped inside, his gaze was immediately drawn to the two women sitting in the corner. Angela looked up first, her classic blonde hair and blue eyes bright in the dim room, and relief spread across her features. But it wasn’t her that he wanted to see the most.

His wife sat next to his cousin, leaning back on the settee with one hand clutching a paper cup and the other resting on her expanded stomach. As he stepped closer, her deep brown eyes opened and quickly focused on him. They then widened and she leaned forward a little, his name a gasp on her lips.

She started to struggle, trying to get to her feet, and the President rushed forward the last few steps, kneeling in front of her (his tuxedo was already ruined anyway, who cared if there was a little more damage done). “I’m all right, honey,” he assured her hastily, grasping first her free hand and then the other one when Angela took the paper cup away. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, an old-fashioned gesture certainly, but one his wife had always smiled over. She didn’t smile now, though.

“What happened?” she demanded. “They said… they said you’d been _kidnapped_!” Her skin, though naturally pale, was now an unhealthy, chalky white. 

He cursed inwardly. She needed to calm down, before she really worked herself into a state. Her pregnancy hadn’t been an easy one, and the doctors had all told them that it was essential that she not get overly worked up. He pushed himself to his feet and moved to sit beside her, glad that Angela had already moved away from them, to give them some measure of privacy. Once he was seated next to her, the President wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against him. “It’s a long story,” he murmured into her dark hair, which had fallen loose from the twist it had been in most of the evening. “But I’m okay. It’s all going to be fine.”

He could feel her hands clutching at his back tightly, and she buried her face into his shoulder, paying no mind to the lingering cobwebs that covered him. “You better be,” she threatened, and though her voice is muffled, he can hear the fire in her voice. The pregnancy had left her out of sorts, after so many years of them trying and failing, but she was still the woman he’d loved for so long – fire and brimstone when she wanted to be.


	4. Because of a Stupid Bet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Plane ride  
>  **Fandom:** Harry Potter  
>  **Pairing:** Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley

“Are you sure about this, Hermione?”

“For the fifth time, _yes_ , Ron, I’m sure. It’s perfectly safe.”

“I still would feel better if I had my wand on me.”

“And I told you, it’s safer if it’s in the box. One unintentional spark of magic —”

“The plane will crash and we’ll all die a horrible, painful, fiery death. _Thank you_ , Mione.”

“I’m just saying, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I know, you’re right. I just wish I knew why Dad was so interested in these things. They’re scary. Brilliant, but scary. Kind of like you.”

“You’re comparing me to an _airplane_? That’s… kind of sweet. I think.”

* * *

“What was that?!”

“The plane’s taking off, Ron. Relax.”

“Why is it so bumpy? Are we running over something?”

“No, it’s just the runway. We’re fine.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I should go check —”

“Ronald Weasley! You can’t get up when we’re taking off! Are you mad?!”

“Ow! Hermione!”

“You can’t leave your seat while the plane is taking off! You’ll get thrown all over the plane! You could get hurt, or even hurt someone else!”

“All right, remind me again _why_ we’re doing this and not just taking a portkey?”

“Because _you_ thought it would be a good idea to make a bet with George that you could sell more products at the joke shop dressed as Dumbledore than George could as his normal self.”

“… Oh. Right.”

* * *

“So… what is a person supposed to do during a flight?”

“They’ll show a film soon. You can watch that.”

“You mean one of those movies you told me about? Wicked! Do you think it’ll be _Star Wars_?”

“Um… probably not, Ron. They don’t show those things very often. More likely it’ll be a romantic comedy or something a little more… sedate.”

“But _Star Wars_ would be so much more fun! Can’t we watch that instead?”

“The airline shows what it wants to show. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to watch it and can entertain yourself.”

“With what?”

“You could always read a book, or a newspaper, or a magazine.”

“But I can’t bring anything like that out, Hermione! The Statute —”

“Not all books have moving pictures in them, Ron! Surely you could have brought _something_ that wouldn’t draw attention to you.”

“…”

“Honestly, Ronald…”

* * *

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Ron?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Your mother packed something for us to eat on the way.”

“Um…”

“You already ate it, didn’t you? All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Ron! That was for both of us! Now we’ll have to wait until the meal is served!”

“I was hungry!”

“You had a huge breakfast before we left! How could you be hungry after all of that?”

“I’m still a growing boy! Mum says —”

“…”

“…”

* * *

“Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I ate all our snacks.”

“It’s all right. Supper’s about to be served.”

* * *

“Wow! This is really good!”

“… Do you want my shepherd’s pie?”

“Su—uh, I thought you were hungry too?”

“I am, but not enough to eat this.”

“Okay… how about my fruit cup for it?”

“Thank you.”


	5. Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Sleepy  
>  **Fandom:** Star Trek (2009)  
>  **Pairing:** girl!James T. Kirk/Christopher Pike

Half-lidded eyes the color of a stormy blue sky watched him from the bed. Jenna lay curled up on her side, one arm under her head and the pillow while the other was held tightly against her chest, a loose fist resting under her chin. The sleepy expression on her face wasn’t the aura of exhaustion that had hung about her like a dark cloud when she and the _Enterprise_ had first arrived back on Earth, something shared by most of the crew, incidentally. No, this was a contented weariness, one that came from spending an entire day enjoying oneself. 

Jenna Kirk was a workaholic, it was true, but shore leave still agreed with her, under the right circumstances.

Chris suppressed a yawn himself as he stripped off his uniform, folding and placing it on a nearby chair. Clad in just his boxers, he crossed the room and slipped under the sheets of the bed. He leaned back against his pillow with a sigh, closing his eyes and letting his body slowly go through the process of relaxing. Regulating his breathing, tightening and loosening his muscles, just letting his mind drift – the exercises were all second nature by now, after nearly three years of performing them. His medical team had all sworn by the exercises, telling him over and over again that they would be just as vital in his recovery as the myriad of surgeries he was going through. 

As he finally finished, Chris opened his eyes, squinting a little from the lamp light. Fighting back another yawn, he turned to look at Jenna. Her eyes were fluttering rapidly, a visible sign of her exhaustion as she struggled to remain awake. She hadn’t moved at all since he’d joined her, staying completely still beneath the sheet that provided only the thinnest cover for the lovely curves of her body.

Chris knew why she remained so still, knew that she knew what it was to have a sudden flashback to a horrible situation. Jen didn’t talk about the clusterfuck that was her childhood much, but he knew the basics. She understood, and as horrible as that was, it was something Chris was nonetheless grateful for. Now, though, it was time to move beyond that. Conscious acceptance did a world of good.

Wordlessly, he raised his arm, motioning for her to come closer. Fatigued though she was, Jen was still alert enough to see his gesture and didn’t hesitate. She scooted herself across the mattress, ducking under Chris’ arm and pressing up against his side. Her head came to rest on his chest, one of her hands landing next to it and her fingers stroking through his chest hairs almost absently. Chris smiled faintly and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, securing her to him. 

“G’night, Adm’ral.” The words were mumbled, but he could hear the grin, the teasing in them as she closed her eyes for good.

He chuckled. “Goodnight, Captain.”

Jen was asleep within minutes, leaving Chris to watch her. Assured that she was really resting, he reached out with his free hand and switched the lamp off, intending to join her.


End file.
